Ad Meliora
by Little Knight Mik
Summary: "Those who committed atrocities had it coming. Those who were innocent were just caught in the crossfire." In a drastic change to the Games, only rebels of reaping age and children related to rebels will be reaped. Tensions are high as the Districts are purged of rebellion, and one can only hope this drastic change works for the better. (SYOT OPEN)
1. The New Norm

**Hello, hello! Welcome to Ad Meliora, the direct sequel to Ad Mortem! Super excited to get started with this :D**

* * *

 **01 - The New Norm**

 **Valerian St. Clare, Head Archivist for the Capitol**

 _Two months before the reapings_

That dumb cat was walking on the table again.

Valerian sipped at his lemonade with a glare trained on the small calico, and his other arm curled around his plate of snacks protectively. It'd already eaten all the of salmon on Carna's plate, the new Head Gamemaker too enamoured by the feline to deny it a snack. Even now, as it eyed the prosciutto on Valerian's plate, Lola was trying to tempt it over with one of the shrimps from her cocktail. Hell, Nirav had more meat on his plate and even more fish than Valerian.

But _no_. It was _Valerian's_ food the furball wanted.

The new team of Gamemakers just watched with amused expressions. Valerian had already been introduced to all of them, notes having been taken extensively. Horace had yet to arrive, and he was fairly certain the cat wasn't game enough to lunge for his food just yet. Valerian looked over each one of them, reciting what he knew about them in his head.

The first was Huang Ma, seated closest to the edge of the table and nursing a glass of water. Apparently she and Carna attended the same university, though Huang gravitated more towards the study of various fauna and how to splice them safely. Only twenty-six and rather plain compared to her coworkers—simple, straight black hair, unaltered almond eyes, and just the application of bold red lipstick to stand out—though the same could be said for the youngest member of the new team. According to Carna, it was Horace who'd picked Huang to be part of the new team.

To the right of Huang was the youngest member in question, and another member of the Becskei family. Calla Becskei was only eighteen, his birthday having recently passed, and of all the members of the Gamemaking team he looked the most exhausted. Not physically, Valerian had noted the first time he'd seen the boy, but emotionally and perhaps even mentally. The official story was that he was Horace's son, who'd recently been hospitalised due to bronchitis; Valerian wasn't entirely sure he bought it, but it was hard to imagine this awkward blond lying about it with how nervous he appeared in front of everyone. He was closer to Huang than his cousin, too, which struck Valerian as odd when he'd found out he only just met her after the team was formed.

After Calla was Carna herself, the nibling of the interim president. The antlers implanted to the crown of her head were modelled after a deer's, and she took quite extensive care of them. Carna Becskei was also… odd. She thought outside the box, but more outside than most tended to. It didn't make sense when he put it into words, but the fact remained that she was an oddity. The opposite of her flora-specialist cousin, who was grounded in reality despite his anxieties.

Next to Carna, reviewing what was most likely a draft for this year's arena, was Magnus Tweed. He was one of the few previous Gamemakers to stay thanks to Carna's glistening review of his work ethic. There wasn't much that Valerian didn't already know about Magnus: Been around since the 85th Games, had a close relationship with Adele Martin from District Three, hated not having things to do. He was a simple man with simple needs, but complicated all the same. It was hard to tell what he was thinking at times, and Valerian always made sure to file away any facial tics for future reference.

The final member, also newly recruited, was the new muttation designer next to Magnus. Sloane Black wasn't much older than the newcomers, but they were definitely the kind of person who acted twice their age. They took great care in their appearance, making sure their hair was curled in just the right way and that their eyeshadow and eyeliner matched to a T. The others weren't as close to Sloane as each other, but for the most part they seemed to have a good working relationship with Magnus—well, Valerian assumes so based on their cryptic conversation earlier about arena ideas and muttation positioning.

The damned cat yowled at him to give it food. Valerian, refusing to budge, picked up a handful of his prosciutto and stuffed it into his mouth. The cat's owner finally decided to address him, no longer able to ignore the man.

"The chipmunk face doesn't suit you, Mr. St. Clare," Gossamer Wormwood drawled. He leaned back in his seat and sipped his tea with a dry glare trained on Valerian. At the sound of its owner's voice, the calico cat bounded over to Gossamer's side. Gossamer lifted his arms from his lap as the cat crawled on him, settling down with a pleased chirp.

"Didn't ask," Valerian huffed around his food. Gossamer wrinkled his nose at him. The conversation could have gone on, Calla now half-grinning at the exchange while Lola, sitting beside Valerian, forlornly put her shrimp back in her cocktail. But the doors opened, two Peacekeepers filtering in, before finally the man of the hour made his appearance.

The animosity that radiated from Calla the moment they locked eyes was enough to make Valerian lose his appetite. That was another thing he wasn't entirely sure of the reasoning behind—Calla seemed to loathe his father, never saying why, and always dropped his shy demeanour in favour of a purely acidic one whenever Horace Becskei entered the room.

Horace took a seat at the head of the table, regarding the Gamemaker team and his guests adjacent to them. Someone else entered the room, delayed by a few seconds, before finally she took her seat at the other end of the table. Morganite was the youngest member in this meeting, but she was far from the most inexperienced. Ever since winning last year with Gossamer, she'd spent so much time working with Horace over new changes made to the Games that Valerian was half-surprised she wasn't also made part of the new Gamemaker team.

With everyone present, the interim president addressed them all: "Thank you for coming to this meeting, all of you. It's important we get this sorted out as soon as possible."

Horace nodded to Valerian, and the man wasted no time fishing through his pocket for his notepad. That was his job now—he wasn't an information broker that sold secrets anymore, but the official archivist for the Capitol. Anything that went on within Panem, particularly within the Games, was Valerian's business first and foremost. He wrote the date and time at the top of the page, and then nodded back to Horace to continue.

"As you know," Horace said, "the Capitol has been in a state of panic ever since the attack on President Snow last year. Recovery of the people's trust has been… difficult. But after a long, long ten months of planning and negotiating with officials, we've finally come to a solution that will lead this country back on the right path again."

Calla huffed and leaned his chin on his closed fist. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't dare speak up in front of everyone. Huang placed a hand on his knee in an attempt at reassurance.

Horace closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply at the reaction. This was clearly a topic neither liked to discuss together. "Towards the end of the Quell, I brought up concerns that the people feel they are being unfairly punished after a hundred years of penance for their forefathers' sins. I regret to say it took the unsightly attack on Gamemaker HQ to convince her, but nonetheless we were granted her permission to propose this change."

"And that change is?" Carna prompted. Morganite cleared her throat, standing up and pulling slips of paper from her bag. She dumped Gossamer's on the table unceremoniously, startling his cat, while everyone else was politely handed the papers by hand.

"You'll see the new rules that have been documented and signed by the rest of Pre— Celestia Snow's council," she explained. She rounded the table once before finally making it back to her chair. Valerian skimmed over his copy, and the moment he saw the word _execution_ his hand reached for Nirav's shoulder.

It was a good thing he had, too. Nirav had seen the final rule, his eyes going wide and his lip curling into a sneer; he'd already made a move to stand, and was only held back by Valerian's grip. Despite being chosen by Valerian as his assistant, making him free from practically all kinds of punishment for investigating past events and Games controversy, Nirav was still an avox. Avoxes were still lesser than everyone else.

And Nirav realised this, his expression becoming pained as his sat back down and cradled his head in his hands. No one seemed to acknowledge the outburst but Calla, who had a similar kind of despair on his face as he read the new rules over and over again to himself.

Morganite held her own paper in front of her and announced, "Interim President Becskei and the remaining members of Celestia Snow's council have approved the following changes to the Hunger Games. First—Only those connected through relation, be it blood-related or through legal paperwork, to a rebel shall be reaped. Those who are not related to a rebel, but are a rebel themselves, will also find their name in the reaping bowls.

"Second—Due to the unfortunate circumstances of the Hemingway twins last year, volunteering at the last possible minute will be allowed. Until the reaped tribute sets foot on the train and it leaves the station, volunteers will be accepted.

"Third—The mentor system has been abolished, and all previous escorts are to be forcibly retired unless evidence is provided they can do their job without spreading rebel propaganda. The role of mentor will be passed on to the thirteen new mentors selected for this year's Games."

Sloane leaned forward, intrigued. "Thirteen?" they said. "Are we revealing the survival of District Thirteen?"

Morganite looked awkwardly down at the paper, then at Sloane. She turned her gaze to Horace, helpless, as the seconds ticked by.

"No," Horace said at last. "No, the thirteenth escort will be for our own Capitol."

Half the Gamemakers jumped to their feet in shock, as did Gossamer and Lola. Valerian wasn't all that surprised by the change, if he thought about it; everyone at some point wants to fight the society they live in, and those content in the Capitol were no exception. Sooner or later people wanted more, or suddenly developed bleeding hearts for the Districts.

"We discovered a good number of our own among the names of rebels during interrogations," Horace went on. "The Capitol will form a thirteenth District, and a small portion will be sent to random Districts to fill numbers."

Gossamer slowly sank back into his seat, his cat snuggled safely in his arms. He looked to Morganite and said, "And you were fine with this? You think they deserve it?"

She gave him a stare so empty of emotion as she replied, "It's not about who deserves it, right?"

"Yes," Horace agreed. "But moving on—if you will, Miss Gardierre?"

Morganite nodded. "Fourth—Children of rebels and rebels at the age of eighteen who are not reaped will receive punishment following the reapings. This punishment has not been made known to the public, but those who resist reeducation will face execution."

There was what had Nirav and Calla angry. Valerian scribbled the details of each rule and each members' reactions as Morganite continued.

"Finally, fifth—The tribute who wins out of the twenty-six in the arena will be rewarded with rehabilitation, particularly if they are a rebel, and returned to their District by the start of the next Hunger Games after. The aim of this change is to ensure that the Hunger Games returns to its roots, acting as judge, jury and executioner for the children of rebels and those who fight against the Capitol."

The room was silent. Morganite looked up from the papers, back at Horace. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded to her, satisfied by her report.

"That's where we're at, everyone," Horace said. Carna raised a hand, a curious look on her face. "Yes, Head Gamemaker Becskei?"

"Will there be additional changes before the Games begins?"

Horace shook his head. "No, this was all they were willing to budge with. No matter how much I tried to tell them that this would benefit the country greatly, they were still concerned with a minority slipping through the cracks."

Valerian hummed. So they should be, he thought. If Horace dared ask him for names, he'd probably have more to give than the poor sap going through "interrogations" right now.

"How many names do we have?" Lola asked. Horace looked to her dryly, but still answered with a number.

"Over four hundred."

Lola let out a flat grunt. She muttered to herself, "Got my work cut out for me."

"Sorry," Gossamer jumped in again, "what does my therapist and the former host of the Hunger Games have to do with this? Didn't you kick her out of the Games team over all this?"

That was easy enough for Valerian to answer. He looked up from his notepad and leaned behind Nirav to address Gossamer. "Lola's been reassigned to a new position that Horace agreed with. After the whole affair with you being quasi-diagnosed during the interviews, we all thought it best that each tribute have their mental health assessed prior to the arena launch."

"That'll extend the pre-Games by at least a day," Gossamer argued.

Valerian nodded again. "That was the easiest part to get the council to sign off on last year. All of this was the hard part."

Lola was looking at Gossamer with a smug expression. He looked past Valerian at her, and when he relented he waved a dismissive hand at her. "Carry on," he sighed.

It didn't take long for the meeting to conclude, the new details of the Games made clear and the roles everyone would play announced. Valerian and Nirav would document it all. Carna and her team would control the arena and its machinations. Morganite would escort for a District of her choosing, and Gossamer would host in place of Lola. Lola, going into the greatest change of career of them all, would be the one to assess and analyse each tribute in future Hunger Games.

Horace was the first to leave, and the rest slowly filtered out. Valerian and Nirav remained, finishing their notes and reviewing the papers Morganite left for them. If this was how Horace hoped every subsequent Hunger Games would operate, then everyone surely had their work cut out for them.

Valerian grabbed his bag from under his chair and stood with a grunt. Nirav soundlessly joined him, his hands tucked in his pockets in his own little way of saying, _Don't want to talk_.

Fair enough, Valerian thought. They had too much work to catch up on to talk much anyway.

* * *

 **Well, we got our POV from Valerian for our first opener! As you can see from this chapter, as well, all of the tributes will be rebels or related to rebels, and no one else. As mentioned above, the mentor system is abolished and instead thirteen new escorts are chosen for both the role of mentor and escort, so if you're interested in sending someone feel free!**

 **Information for Meliora can be found on my profile. Hope you all enjoy, and I look forward to the story ahead! For now, I'll close off with a CQ!**

 **CQ #1:** Of the Games staff and archivists shown, who caught your interest the most and why?


	2. The Design Process

**Prologue 2! I'm thinking one or two more of these before I close submissions, but we'll see how we go!**

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 **02 - The Design Process**

 **Calla Becskei, 18, Flora Expert**

 _One month before reapings_

It was like looking into the uncanny valley.

The high cheekbones, the thin brows, the plump lips. No matter how many times he would see this face, he found himself stirring with unease at the mere sight of it. He'd work on the flowers for the arena, deciding which to infuse with what chemicals, and then he'd catch a glimpse. The face that was so foreign, yet followed him everywhere.

He tore his gaze away from the glass container. He was on the job now, and he knew Horace would confront him if he began to slack off and make mistakes. He just wanted to avoid the man as often as possible.

"Calla?"

Ah. That was him, unmistakably called out by Huang's voice. He glanced over his shoulder, watched her approach from the other side of the room, and waited for her to join him.

"You seem out of it today," she noted. He huffed a humourless laugh.

"I always have something on my mind," he told her. It wasn't a lie, not by a long shot. But Huang was good at picking apart his lies.

"It's what makes you yourself," she agreed. "But I did wanna catch up a bit. Sloane and I finished up our theory work, and I figured we could get some sugar flowers or something. I have a craving for something sweet."

He stared at her dryly. "Just… sugar flowers?"

"I am an adult and I pick my food as I please."

She wasn't wrong. He just didn't find the bite-sized sweets all that appetising. But then Huang added something more his pace, and he was sold on the idea of a lunch break.

"I'll shout you a bag of chocolatines. Or pears, if you're in a healthy mood."

The cafeteria was nearly empty, the other gamemakers either having brought food themselves or simply skipping food altogether. It made leaving the isolated lab feel a little easier. It made him feel like there were less eyes searching for the reclusive, hidden-away Calla Becskei.

They sat in silence for the first few minutes. Huang nibbled on a few flowers while he bit into the first of his chocolatines. It was peaceful—before Huang's other goal reared its head, a guilty expression on her face. Lunch was a bribe, he realised, and he put down his chocolatine silently.

"Arrests start today," she said in a soft voice. A voice that wanted to keep the conversation private. "Every District. Even here. I'm… I don't know what to expect from the arrests."

"Rebels, most likely," he answered glibly.

Huang shook her head. "But the kids who are just related? What kind of life are we shattering with this? What kinds of people will they have been before the new Games moulds them into something else?"

What, indeed.

"Since last month the list of names jumped from four hundred to seven. That's—That's over ten percent of District Twelve's population, y'know?" Huang chewed her lip. "And if you add family members of reaping age…"

He didn't really care for the numbers. If he was honest, he didn't even really care for the people who were being punished with this new Games design. It wasn't that he didn't know them, and thus didn't care—it was more that he knew if he ever met them, they'd reject him and try to change him. Try to do what Horace did, what so many people in his life before the Gamemaking team had done.

But he kept up his blank expression, waiting for Huang to continue. She didn't. So he prompted her, "What does this have to do with me?"

Huang tugged at her hair. It was a nervous habit, one he liked to watch every so often whenever she got stuck on a decision or plan of action.

"W—Well…" Huang averted her gaze, staring down at his chocolatine. "Sloane and I, we finally finished successfully splicing the DNA for the mutts. We have a few people already arrested we can get solid samples from now to fully mature a mutt for the arena, but the one we're both set on…"

His heart sank. His expression must have as well. Huang backtracked.

"We won't if you don't approve! I know how you get when the Hemingway kids are brought up, especially with how similar you are with the brother—but Chambray is easy to access, and samples were taken from Calico's corpse—if we can make the mutts recognise each other—"

His knuckles were white under the table. He could feel his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood and leaving a fire in their wake. Huang didn't see it. He never showed his hands, lest they give away his tells more than his face.

"Go ahead," he forced out. Huang stared at him.

"Calla—"

"It's fine. Like you said, it's convenient to use what's available." He swallowed a lump in his throat and forced his fingers to stretch out. There was blood under every nail. "I appreciate you wanting my consent for it, though," he added, and the lie tasted so bitter on his tongue.

* * *

 **Sloane Black, 27, Muttation Designer**

When Huang entered their lab again, Sloane was reviewing the results of the latest tests. This was, after all, quite the revolutionary muttation design; while they were familiar with the previous mutts who'd _resembled_ tributes in special ways, Sloane had never once heard of a Gamemaker creating a mutt that, to its core, was a _clone_ of the tribute it was modelled after.

Huang had proposed the idea after seeing Carna's horns. Sloane had been in the general vicinity, an unwitting audience to Huang's fantasy of demi-fauna, and then all of a sudden they were brainstorming. Would they start with this animal, or that one? Who did they use as a base to clone? Would they leave them more animal than human, or implant human traits in them? All the possibilities, all the hypotheses.

And then Magnus, a mere three months ago, before the changes to the Games had been made, showed Sloane his arena design. Sloane knew what they wanted to make in that instant, and Huang had been completely on board. They stared at the embryo in the tank with an almost fond expression. Just a few more days, they thought, and then the mutt would begin its process of maturing.

Huang stood by their side and admired the embryo as well. Though it was difficult to see, small scales were beginning to form on the mutt's lower half. The rest of it resembled a human's early development in the womb, still too far to be recognisable as a baby and looking more like a jellybean than anything.

"He agreed," Huang said. Sloane nodded. The decision of whose DNA to use for the first test in mental capacity had been difficult to settle on. When Sloane had remembered Chambray Hemingway, arrested last year during the climax of the Games, was free for them to access—well, Sloane didn't want to waste an opportunity.

And when they found out Calico Hemingway's body was still in Capitol hands, a simple request for tissue needing to be lodged, Sloane figured out how to test the mutts.

"I have to wonder about Calla's connection to them," Sloane mused. They walked to the freezer, where the Hemingways' samples were kept on ice. Despite needing Calla's consent, it was easier to have the samples handy alongside all the other potential substitutes for the tests. "Have to wonder a lot of things about him, actually."

Huang covered her mouth as she chuckled softly. "We all have our quirks," she reasoned, her tone light-hearted. "You refuse to have photos taken of yourself."

" _I_ refuse to be caught looking unphotogenic," Sloane retorted.

"Quirk." Huang walked over to her desk, pulling the coat she'd left behind off of her chair. She shrugged it on and checked the pockets. "I think it's because he looks similar to them. Horace told me Calla almost went into hiding when the twins were outed during the interviews."

"Well, with the population as vast as it is, I wouldn't be surprised if that was all. There's bound to be someone in the Districts who looks like me and you."

The door slammed open. Sloane squawked, the samples in their hands almost dropped to the floor in their fright. They turned on the newcomer, ready to chew them out, but stopped at the sight of a frazzled, exhausted Valerian St. Clare.

All Sloane could do was laugh. Poor bastard definitely got more than he bargained for when he agreed to archive _every_ Hunger Games and their subsequent consequences to date.

"Right on time," Huang deadpanned. Valerian looked to her, wild-eyed, and stumbled into the room. He fixed his blazer, pulling its shoulders back into place and adjusting its lapel.

"Ni—" Valerian doubled over once he reached Huang's desk. He struggled to catch his breath, and it was only now that Sloane noticed the thick sheen of sweat across his forehead. "We both fell asleep. Need to— Need to get used to the shifts—"

" _You_ need to get used to the shifts," Sloane fired at him. "Nirav's spent the last decade working the mines during the daytime. You've had a more flexible schedule."

Valerian pointed at them, ready to argue back, but all he could manage was a wheeze before he dropped his hand. Instead his focus went to Huang, and his notepad was in his hand before Sloane could even laugh more at him. His argument was probably going to be about how _difficult_ it is to be a shady information broker working for the underground.

"How's—" He cleared his throat. "How's progress?"

"We're on track," Sloane said. He was already jotting down words. "Magnus and I reviewed the arena design, and then Huang threw out some ideas for mutts. Since the Games are supposed to go back to being a punishment, we decided on… something ambitious."

"Something that's working so far," Huang jumped in. She was beaming, her dream coming true before her. "It took a few weeks of tinkering with the DNA split, but we finally got it down to a perfect formula—Sloane had a few eggs on ice that we used for initial testing, and once this one matures we'll be moving on to more specific designs."

Valerian looked up from his notepad, his gaze drifting to the embryo. "Sorry, what are the mutts this year supposed to be?"

Sloane grinned, the smuggest they'd felt in a long time. And so they should've been! This was history in the making, all because of them and Huang!

"The mutts are the tributes' families, Mr. St. Clare," they boasted. "After stage one—successful cloning—we move on to hijacking them."

* * *

 **And we have a look at what the mutts will be based on! I'm curious to see what you think they've been spliced with, so there's my CQ!**

 **CQ #2:** Which animal do you think the mutts have been spliced with?

 **I'll see you in prologue 3!**


	3. Formula for Fear

**Third prologue! Not sure if I'll do a fourth or if I'll start reapings after a few weeks, but hey we got some more looks into the Gamemaker work! CQ is at the bottom as usual!**

* * *

 **03 - Formula for Fear**

 **Morganite Gardierre, 15, Victor of the 4th Quell**

 _One week before reapings_

Calla was restless beside her. He always got this way whenever the three of them were summoned for Games business. Not even Gossamer, who seemed to always calm him with a chocolatine and reassuring whispers, could still the young man today.

And who could blame him? Given what Morganite knew of the mutts so far, and who the test runs were modelled after, it was only natural that he'd be on edge more than usual.

Gossamer walked ahead, fixing his jacket and pulling out his ID for the Peacekeepers guarding the door. Morganite was left to follow with Calla, and like every other time they were alone silence weighed heavily over them. The corridor became unbearably long whenever they were alone. Morganite could never walk fast enough, and neither could Calla.

And like every other time they ran into each other, or even worked in the same space, Morganite found herself whispering, "I'm sorry."

Like every time he'd heard it, Calla whispered back, "It's fine."

But Morganite knew it wasn't. She knew her hesitation last year tore him apart more and more by the day. She knew the difference between Calla Becskei's acting and Calico Hemingway's lies.

Morganite didn't press the issue. She never did. He knew as well as she did that she saw through his weak reassurances.

They must have been walking too slow. Gossamer whistled back at them, waving the duo over as the door remained closed in front of him. It seemed there would be no getting in unless all three entered at once. Morganite scowled. Even when she had to do things with Gossamer, she couldn't get at least some distance from him like she preferred.

Everything she had to do with him never allowed her the distance she preferred.

They arrived by his side, and the Peacekeepers nodded in approval as they opened the door. Inside the lab was a scene of cleanliness and the smell of sterilisation, a smell Morganite never got used to no matter how many times she went to hospital or came to the lab for President Becskei's tasks. Hopefully, with all the changes being approved, this would be the last time she had to go into the lab—after all, with just a week until reapings there was little else to showcase other than the completed mutts.

A large, cylindrical tank had been built in the far corner of the room, separated into two halves by titanium netting exactly down the middle. Morganite stared at the tank, at the sheer size of it. Something this big was usually for the sharks and manta rays at the aquarium. There was no way the mutts were going to be small, if this was built for two matured ones. The tank was already full of water, a few decorations meant to serve as toys and napping areas mirrored on either side of the net.

But only one side had a mutt in it. A mutt she couldn't see properly.

Huang appeared seemingly out of nowhere, Nirav her at heels and jotting down everything she said lazily. Once upon a time Morganite had wondered why Nirav was so jaded, and made assumptions on what had caused him to become who he was. Last year, just before the arena launch, she'd wrongly assumed it was his avoxing at such a young age. This year, knowing better, Morganite was well aware that the horrors he'd seen both in and out of the arena was the cause of his cynical, overtly disgusted opinion on Panem. Huang was listing off things one by one, and Morganite froze up at the sound of Calico and Chambray's names being declared.

"We gave them a steroid that increased physical and mental growth," Huang told Nirav. "Once they hit approximately eighteen years, we halted the steroids and began testing mental capacity. Sloane and I were impressed—they're quick learners, also rather social. I imagine like most real people, they'd crave the company of others like them if left alone."

Nirav lifted his pen and pointed to the tank with the mutt in it. Morganite walked ahead of Gossamer and Calla. The boys hesitated, and she pretended not to notice the white-knuckled grip Calla had on Gossamer's hand. She could only see scales, the mutt's body hidden pitifully under a rock and among some grass. They were a gorgeous, shimmering blue-grey, looking so smooth from a distance that Morganite almost forgot that was—the scales of an animal, not silk from a dress.

The bulk of the body moved, almost as though the mutt knew it was being watched. A long, almost mercury-coloured fin peeked out from the grass, and Morganite's jaw dropped as the thin appendage flowed freely about in the water.

"They're—" she started, but Huang was still talking with Nirav.

"Like this, yeah. We kept the two in the same tank since we wanted to emulate the real life relationship, which worked, but now that we've taken her twin she's gone into a… really depressed state. Hasn't even eaten today."

Nirav hummed and jotted down the note. Morganite struggled to find her voice as the mutt slowly extended a hand out from its hiding spot.

Pale, without nails, and thin webbing connecting each elongated digit. A trait that made swimming easier for amphibians. But this… This wasn't…

" _Huang_ ," Calla choked out. Huang whirled on her heel, and her expression dropped from professional excitement to personal despair. Had she not known even Calla would be here today?

"Ca—" Huang waved Nirav off. Morganite listened absently to their conversation as Nirav inched over to her side, scribbling away on his notepad. "You don't have to be here today, Calla, please. It's— The last test we have to do is—"

"Becskei won't let him skip it," Gossamer ground out. "Why would you even use _them_ as a base for the new mutts? There's plenty of staff around willing to give their all for the sake of science."

"Gossamer, it's not that—"

Nirav tapped her shoulder. Morganite broke away from the conversation, averting her gaze from the mutt at the same time. He was holding his notepad out for her to see, but he wasn't looking at her. Nirav instead had his troubled gaze locked on the webbed hand that was digging at the sand beneath the rock.

 _Sickening, right?_ the page asked.

Morganite let out a steeling breath. "That's a word for it, yeah," she agreed. He pulled the notepad back and scribbled another message.

 _I feel bad for the kids they make mutt families of_.

"Yeah." Morganite looked over her shoulder, where Calla was staring at the tank and unable to pay attention to Huang's pleading. "Me too."

From the other side of the room, with a loud metal clang, the door leading to the furthest reaches of the lab slammed open. Morganite, and even the mutt in the tank, jolted at the surprise. There was a clicking sound echoing through the room, muffled by some kind of fabric, and Morganite watched in awe as the mutt crawled out of its hiding place.

"M—" Morganite's hand flew over her mouth, forcing herself not to say it. Nirav, however, wanted it to be said.

 _Mermaid_ , his note said. And not just any mermaid—a mermaid that looked like _Chambray Hemingway_. If not for the scales and the tail and the fins and _the gills and webbed hands_ , Morganite would hands down mistake it for the real thing.

Two Peacekeepers, followed closely by Sloane, hauled something heavy wrapped in a blanket to the tank. They climbed stairs leading to the opening, the muffled clicking continuing all the while, and Sloane joined Morganite's side to greet the now exposed mer-Chambray.

"He's back, little one," they said in a soothing voice. The mer-Chambray swam in circles, even going so far as to try reach through the netting with her arm. The holes were barely big enough for her elbow to fit through.

The Peacekeepers rolled the blanket open, and a similarly coloured, and perhaps even sized, form dropped into the other side of the tank gracelessly. She watched, gobsmacked, as mer-Chambray's twin descended groggily into his side of the tank. The only difference between them, she noticed, was that mer-Calico's finns were longer. Frillier.

Nirav clicked his fingers and held up his notepad to Sloane. They beamed at him, apparently pleased by the question. "Oh, betta fish! Huang came up with the specific breed, actually."

"Be—" Calla was barely able to speak above a whisper. "Betta— Huang, they're—"

"Calla, _please_ ," Huang begged. "You don't have to—"

And then Calla choked on a sob. "He said I needed to see this."

"Everything alright back there?" Sloane called. Huang turned back around, and she hesitated before nodding. "Alright. Give him a few minutes to wake up and we'll pull up the netting."

Morganite looked between the two mermutts, then to Sloane. "Pull the— Why are you pulling the netting?"

Sloane winked at her.

Ever so slowly the mer-Calico came to his senses. He rolled around, waved his arms about, and even twitched his tail a few times. His gaze locked on his twin, recognition sparking in his eyes. He didn't bother to move yet—probably still too tired from whatever they'd been doing with him.

Sloane waved their hand up at the Peacekeepers. "Bring it up!" they called.

The titanium netting began to rise at a steady pace. Morganite held her breath, stepped away from the tank almost out of fear. Why did they keep them apart now? Didn't Huang say they were allowed to be together? What was different now? Why was—

As soon as the netting was fully removed, hovering above the water's surface, mer-Chambray swam over to her twin's side with arms wide open and a relieved smile on her face. Mer-Calico smiled as well, reached out for her.

Something changed in his expression.

Morganite barely had time to register what happened. One moment mer-Calico was floating and reaching for mer-Chambray, and the next he was clawing into her torso and biting into her arm with teeth— _jagged, shark teeth, holy shit_ —as mer-Chambray screeched loud enough to be heard even through the glass. Blood billowed out into the water, obscuring everyone's visions.

A thud came from behind her. Morganite couldn't look away. It was like watching a crash—no matter how much she wanted to look away, she just _couldn't_. Her eyes wouldn't let her.

The Peacekeepers threw something into the water when Sloane signalled them again. Before Morganite knew it, something was hooked around mer-Calico's neck and dragging him off of mer-Chambray. The netting went down once more, separating the twin mutts from each other.

The blood began to fade, mixing with the water, and mer-Chambray was on the sandy floor as she nursed her wounds. She wailed and held her face in her hands, pressing strips of seaweed against her scrapes and gashes. When Morganite looked back at mer-Calico, she found herself in for a similar sight.

It was like a light had been switched off. Gone was the darkness, the coldness, that made him lunge. Instead it was the personality that had mirrored his human counterpart, horrified and looking between his webbed hands and mer-Chambray's weakened form.

The Peacekeepers released him from the hold around his neck. Mer-Calico looked between his hands and his twin one more time before swimming for the bottom of the tank.

"Hold on," Sloane announced. Morganite stumbled backwards. Huang was there to catch her before she truly fell, and then she was guided back to Gossamer and Calla. Calla was, to her surprise, on the floor and hiccuping at the horrendous sight of— of _his_ clone attacking his _sister's_ clone.

Gossamer grabbed for Morganite's sleeve. She almost slapped him away, but then she saw just how rattled he was as well. He was slowly kneeling down to Calla's level, snaking his arm under the other boy's own and lifting him to his feet.

"This has been," Gossamer began, " _very_ informative, Gamemakers—"

"Restrain him! Get him away from the rocks right now!"

Morganite looked back at the tank. Mer-Calico had made it to the bottom, a large stone in his hands that he raised above his head. Gossamer began dragging her and Calla out of the room the moment the mutt struck itself on the head.

"Wh—" Morganite clutched Gossamer's sleeve as she followed him, desperate for someone to at least keep her on her feet. "What's it doing—"

Calla hiccuped. The mutt struck itself again, this time drawing blood. More netting and even Peacekeepers descended into the tank, racing for the mutt before it could strike itself again.

The doors shut in front of them. The last thing Morganite saw was the mutt lash out at a Peacekeeper that knocked the stone from its hands.

"We need to talk to Horace," Gossamer commanded her almost as soon as they were out of the guards' sight. Morganite went to argue, but stopped when the older boy released her and turned his full focus to Calla. " _Now_."

"What the hell was that, Gossamer?" she yelled at him. "Why did the mutt—"

"It was trying to kill itself!" Gossamer yelled back. There was clear anger in his eyes, and his hands shook as he held on to Calla. The other boy was still struggling to come back to his senses, staring in horror at his own hands and hardly even aware of the screaming match happening either side of him.

Calla began lifting his hands to his mouth. He opened wide, his teeth on display. Gossamer and Morganite snatched a wrist each, apologising at the same time.

"It wasn't her," Gossamer whispered to him. Calla slowly closed his mouth, still half-absent from the conversation. "That was— Its wasn't your—"

Morganite cut Gossamer off before he put his foot in his mouth. "It was the mutt's Chambray," she told Calla. He slowly turned to her, his expression that of a lost child's. "Your Chambray is still in her cell. I'll—I'll go there and send you a video of her. Get her to touch her ear and nose at the same time so you know it's her today."

Calla's arms went slack in their grips. He leaned on Gossamer, letting the boy guide him, and nodded.

"Okay," Calla wheezed. "Wasn't… Wasn't mine."

* * *

 **Teehee**

 **So now we know what the mutts are and what animal was used with them! Honestly anyone who knows me and my love of mermaids would've seen this coming tho, so it's probs only a surprise for a few of you lmao. But yeah! Betta fish mutt people!**

 **CQ #3:** What kind of fish do you think would make for a nice mermaid base?

 **What can I say, I love mermaid discussion.**

 **I'll see you guys next chapter, which will either be another prologue or a reaping!**


	4. Call to Arms

**What's this? An update? Holy crap.**

* * *

 **04 - Call To Arms**

 **Peisin Raidne, 19, Escort for District 1**

 _To Miss Peisin Raidne,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

Peisin folded the letter with a smirk on her face. Naturally she'd made it into the Hunger Games staff. It was even more natural that she be given the next best District after her own home—after the glorious, if slightly disarrayed, Capitol.

Her stylist finished up the last touches of her hair. Above the mirror the clock showed just how little time Peisin had to get to the stage, to wow the crowd like she always did. There was no way she was going to be out of the spotlight now, not with both a successful opera _and_ a career in the Games under her belt. If anything, Peisin was going to be the talk of the country. The victors of the last Quell wouldn't be able to hold a candle to her at this rate.

Truth be told, she wasn't all that interested in the Games. A white lie here, batting her eyelashes there—everything she said during the interview process was for her own sake rather than for Panem's. Peisin just wanted to shine, just wanted to have all eyes on her, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself.

"You must be excited, Miss Raidne," her stylist noted. Peisin set the letter down on her vanity and carefully inspected her nails.

"But of course," she agreed. Her stylist set the crown of her costume in place, atop the short curls that had been made of her hair. "The Hunger Games is the biggest stage in all of Panem. Perhaps the known world, even."

Her stylist began packing away her things, but not before double-checking that Peisin's crown was in proper place. "You'll shine like a star, Miss Raidne."

Peisin snorted. "Don't be daft. I already _am_ a star."

She rose from her chair and gave herself a short twirl, admiring her reflection in the small vanity mirror.

"I'll become a supernova."

* * *

 **Corone Maybel, 21, Escort for District 2**

 _To Mr Corone Maybel,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

His agent was all but gushing at the letter on the table. Corone had to hold back all the sighs in the world as he dusted the shelves of his shop, preparing for opening hours despite the big news.

"This is amazing, Corone!" his agent continued to insist. "The shop will have so many more customers! And you'll be in the Capitol every day—well, every day but the reapings—but _oh_ , the merchandise we could sell! Do you know how many people will be scrambling here for— For—"

"You seem to forget that my store caters to a certain niche," Corone drawled. His agent might as well have ignored him, still going on about the profits they'd make.

The fame was the last thing Corone cared about. He just wanted to run his shop—it wasn't even his idea to apply for an escorting job. His agent had just burst through the doors one day, demanding details to fill out a form for Corone, and look where he was now. Now he had to leave his shop in the hands of his most trusted staff for Lord knew how long, and his simple life of lowkey retail would be upended more than it already was.

Wasn't it good enough to make the top ten indie stores in the Capitol? He didn't have to aim for the top spot, did he?

"I'll contact some friends of mine right away!" his agent went on. Corone looked over his shoulder and set down the feather duster. With his luck, he wouldn't even get time to tend to the shop leading up to the reapings. "I know a gal who can work with _anything_ and make it fashionable! We'll promote the shop yet, Corone!"

Corone sucked in a deep, slow breath. "Yay," he deadpanned.

* * *

 **Felina Meliora, 25, Escort for District 3**

 _To Miss Felina Meliora,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

 _P.S. Off the record, I really hope Cirrus's puns didn't rub off on you too much._

"You really hit the jackpot, Fe."

Fe carefully poured the foam of a customer's coffee into the mug. With practiced ease, she shaped it into a cat's head and reached for her cocoa shaker.

Around her, the cat cafe was bustling as usual. To celebrate her employment as an escort, she decided to open the cafe for the next week with a distinct theme. All of the cats had little accessories that the customers fawned over, but it was Tama whose costume everyone adored most. Tama, who slept on the shelf above Fe's workstation, was dressed in an ensemble that complimented the District Fe was set to escort for.

"It's the purr-fect job furr me-ow," Fe agreed. She finished up the cat's face, making it wink and adding a few extra specks of foam to fluff its fur. "One cat-puccino fur Astolfo!"

The man in question came and collected his drink. He retreated to the small table he and his party occupied, resuming his conversation without a care in the world.

"Are you gonna keep up the cat puns on TV?" the customer inspecting her letter pressed on.

Fe nodded. "But of course! My puns brighten e-furry-one's days, mew know!"

Another customer laughed. He was nursing a tabby cat dressed in a sweater. "Well, if I know one thing, it's that Fe's going to spoil her tributes just like she does her cats."

"What do mew take me-ow furr?" Fe huffed. She reached up to Tama and gave the moggy a gentle scritch under the chin. "Cats are furry social creatures, and I'm no exception! The letter even says I need to take care of those kittens, too!"

The customers around her laughed. They weren't making fun of her—she knew better than to think them cruel, especially after four years of knowing them and serving them.

"If that's the case, Fe," another customer announced, "then I'm gonna give everything I've got to your kids in the Games."

* * *

 **Beatrice Xylander, 36, Escort for District 4**

 _To Miss Beatrice Xylander,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

Her boss stared up at her with wide eyes. "You got in?"

Slowly Beatrice nodded. Everyone had been holding their breaths ever since Beatrice told them she'd applied to escort. They were both excited for her and worried, especially since Beatrice wasn't what most considered overly outgoing. She was more reserved than people who went into escorting, but she wasn't going to let that stop her.

She held up the opened letter and let her boss take it from her hands. Seafoam green eyes skimmed the short notice over and over, until finally her boss broke out into a massive smile and turned to face the other employees.

"She got in!" she cheered. Aquarium staff dropped what they were doing and began crowding around Beatrice, congratulating her and telling her she was going to do great. Beatrice felt heat rise to her cheeks. Their smiles were infectious, breaking out on her own face as she thanked them all one by one.

"I—I know I'm part of the Games staff now," Beatrice said, "but is it okay if I… keep working here in between?"

"Oh, Bea," her boss cooed. "If it's about finances, you don't have to worry—"

"No, no, I'm not worried about money." Beatrice ran her fingers through long, wavy locks. "I just… I love working here. And waiting a long time to go back to District Four each year will be agonising."

Everyone was silent for a moment. It shouldn't have been a surprise, the ocean-loving Beatrice wanting to remain part of the aquarium staff in between Games. She loved everything about it too much, loved the fish and the sound of the water with each ripple that disturbed the surface. And only experiencing that once a year… Well, agonising wasn't an exaggeration.

Finally her boss reached up and patted her shoulder. "Of course, Bea. We'll be honoured to have you for as long as you'll stay."

They were going to have a party that night, the staff decided—to both celebrate Beatrice's new job, and to celebrate her staying with the aquarium another year.

* * *

 **Wilhelmina Talkoschmit, 49, Escort for District 5**

 _To Mx Wilhelmina Talkoschmit,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

There was excitement in Willy's chest as they set down the letter and picked up the can of cat food. This was cause for celebration, for sure, and what better way to celebrate than to spoil their cats?

They clinked a spoon against the open tin and called out, "Puss! Here puss!"

Seven distinct bells jingled throughout the mansion. One by one the cats scurried into the kitchen, where Willy had all seven bowls on the counter and ready to be served up. Misty and Molly howled, impatient for food; Dahlia stretched those fluffy legs up the cabinet in an attempt to climb; Max and Alfie rubbed themselves against Willy's legs, purring loud enough to rival Misty and Molly; and both Jasper and Ramsey waited patiently where their bowls normally would be, wide eyes trained on Willy from afar.

The cats were just as excited as Willy, it seemed. As soon as the food was back in place, all seven of them stuffed their faces into the bowls and munched loudly on their treat.

Despite being almost fifty, Willy was still considered good enough to take one of the twelve most prestigious spots in the modern era of the Games. A patriot, a leader, a mentor. So much was going to be expected of Willy, and they were absolutely certain they were going to ace this. Things always worked out in the end for them—from coming out to a very accepting family, to even moving into their own mansion and finally being able to raise cats like they'd dreamed in childhood.

Willy picked up the letter again and gave it a few waves in the air. They watched it for a moment, then glanced down at their cats, before a thought struck them.

"Oh!" Willy gasped. "I should tell the young lady who runs the cat cafe. She might agree to be a nanny for my wittle babies."

Jasper, the first to finish eating, immediately looked up at Willy and mewled. Willy all but gushed back at the cat. There was no way Fe could say no to that face.

* * *

 **Italy Izaguirre, 24, Escort for District 6**

 _To Mr Italy Izaguirre,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

His mother and father embraced him with tears in their eyes the moment they saw the letter. They worked in the Games, knew how things operated, and they didn't need to see the contents of the letter to know that Italy got the job.

"Look at you!" Abraham cheered. He was a stylist, once upon a time, but had since retired in recent years to focus on his hobbies. Abraham had helped Italy with his application, if only to prevent accusations of bias and interference against his mother. "Following in your folks' footsteps! Oh, Italy, I'm so _proud_ of you!"

Venia wiped at her eyes frantically. "Stop, Abe, you're going to make me cry if you say it out loud!"

Italy could only laugh at his parents' display. They'd been more excited about him becoming an escort than he was—and that was saying something. Having parents who worked on Games prep and overseeing the Games definitely built up the hype for Italy growing up, but it was still hard to believe that he'd been accepted into the new generation of escorts. They'd been advertised as better than the old ones, more loyal and reliable, and for a time Italy had had his doubts about whether or not he was good enough.

But, God, the letter in his hands was more than enough to reassure him of his dream.

And now, with both Italy and Venia working in the Games, he could even spend more time with his mother and talk about work with her.

"Do you want to know what else is great about this?" Italy asked his parents once they pulled away. The couple looked at him, puzzled, before he pulled a small pin from the envelope. On it was the emblem for District 6. "I'm escorting for one of the victor Districts!"

The cheers were renewed at the announcement, and once again Italy was embraced by his mother and father. There was only good news to be had tonight, and only a celebration would help the night pass by calmly.

* * *

 **Renee Mauve, 28, Escort for District 7**

 _To Miss Renee Mauve,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

 _P.S. I understand it was your sister who helped instruct me during training. Please pass my thanks to her._

Tannis raised her brows at the last part. "Oh, wow, she remembered," she drawled. Renee giggled and shook her head. Of course Tannis would focus on _that_ instead of the bigger picture.

She wasn't sure at first if her reasoning for applying would be valid in the eyes of the government, but now she was proven right in her ideals. Using the Hunger Games as a chance to rehabilitate rebel children, to put them back on the straight and narrow, was definitely a good idea on Panem's part. And they were being given a choice, so it wasn't being forced on them in the slightest.

"Are you gonna be okay with this, though?" Tannis asked her. Renee blinked back at her sister, confused. "There's every chance both of your tributes will die. Can you handle that?"

Ah. She'd thought about that as well. It was one of the first things Renee wondered about, whether or not her maternal nature could handle seeing children she would foster for a week just… ceasing to exist. But that was a price she had to pay, a caveat to her new job that all escorts would face. As long as she had faith and gave those kids her all before the bloodbath began, Renee was sure she could do her job without any regrets.

She leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath. "I'll come to terms with it eventually," she admitted. Tannis nodded and folded the letter at the creases. She slid it back over to Renee and leaned her elbows on the dining room table. Tea and biscuits were forgotten by this point, but they'd really just been a pretense to the good news.

"Well, if you ever need any help, I'm here for you," Tannis told her. Renee looked over at her and smiled. She knew that. She'd always known she could rely on Tannis whenever she got stuck. "Just don't expect me to give your kids special treatment."

That made Renee laugh in earnest. "Considering the type of tributes this year," she chuckled, "I doubt they'll want any special treatment from the Capitol."

* * *

 **Larkin West, 19, Escort for District 8**

 _To Mx Larkin West,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

Oh. Oh this was good. This was amazing. This was _perfect_.

The letter all but crumbled in Larkin's hands as he clutched it tighter and tighter. He stood, quiet as the night, alone in his bedroom as the words repeated over and over in his head. _Escorting staff, escorting staff, escorting staff_. This was meant to be, he thought with growing excitement. He was meant to avenge Luxor like this.

All around him, posters of the young man's face stared down at him. Congratulations, they chanted at him in Luxor's sweet voice.

Larkin all but collapsed onto his bed and let out a giddy squeal. Yes, this was the perfect way to get back at those bastards who killed Luxor. And with the District he'd been chosen to work for… Larkin's features broke out into a wicked grin.

Oh, he was going to make that Hemingway girl pay. No matter whose name he drew from the reaping bowl, he was going to announce her's loud and clear. And if anyone dared to take her place, to volunteer, he'd make their life a living hell for taking his revenge from him.

Chambray Hemingway was going to die, to pay with her own blood for the murder she caused. Larkin was going to make sure it happened.

He gazed longingly at the posters of Luxor once more. Peace settled over him, a sense of fulfilment replacing the grief he'd been wading through for the better part of a year. Finally, after being kicked out of that vanilla fan club and only being able to admire from afar, Larkin could do something worthwhile for his beloved Luxor.

Finally.

* * *

 **Nocturne Xiao, 45, Escort for District 9**

 _To Mr Nocturne Xiao,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

He clapped his hands together once. "Alright everyone, that concludes today's lesson."

The small group of students removed their hands from their keyboards and carefully took off their headphones. They were getting better, Nocturne thought as he unhooked his own headphones from around his neck. Soon enough they'd all be able to play complex pieces without needing his guidance.

"Now," Nocturne announced once all eyes were on him, "as I said before the lesson started, there will be no classes for the next month. I _will_ be giving out sheet music as homework for each of you, and no, you will not all be getting the same piece to practice while classes are suspended."

One girl raised her hand slowly. Nocturne nodded for her to speak.

"Did you get accepted as an escort, Mr. Xiao?" she asked. Nocturne cleared his throat and nodded.

"I did."

The children broke out into murmurs. Half gossip about poor Mr. Xiao having to put up with rebels, half excitement about which District he'd be escorting for. Nocturne just sucked in a deep breath and paced himself. He wasn't one to share things like this, even with his own music, and it was improper for his students to pry.

"As I was saying," he cut them off, "each of you will be tasked with practicing a piece for the next month as homework. When I come back, I expect all of you to be able to play at least one minute without error."

"Yes, Mr. Xiao," the small class chorused. One by one they came up to his desk to collect their individual assignments. He was certain they would notice at some point, when comparing sheet music, that Nocturne had only selected on composer for them to study. But not once did they mention Franz Liszt's name, too busy trying to move their fingers in the air like they were already playing piano and practicing their pieces.

Nocturne smiled to himself. "I'll see you all in a month, at the usual time. You'll all do wonderfully, I know it."

* * *

 **Zero Della Luna, 23, Escort for District 10**

 _To Mr Zero Della Luna,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

One by one the texts from his family flooded his phone. Walls of text congratulating him from half of his siblings, simple emojis and celebrations from the others; even his parents were calling him in between messages, screaming about how proud they were of him and how they remembered the mock reapings he'd host when he was a child.

It all felt sort of surreal for Zero. He'd dreamed of this day since he was a kid, always aimed for the position once he was of age. For the whole interview process he was holding his breath, heart ready to burst out of his chest. But of course he got in, he thought as he sipped his drink. He was better than the other applicants he'd sized up during the interviews. The fact that he got the job was proof of that too.

It was just a shame they put him so low in the District lineup. Zero finished up his drink and placed the cup carefully in the sink. What was so great about the others? What did they have that he didn't? Were they richer than him? Did they buy their way higher along the echelon? Typical, he thought once the notion crossed his mind. It would make sense that the fat cats got to hog all the good Districts instead of letting the _real_ outstanding escorts take their place.

But it wasn't all bad. It was actually quite fortunate. After all, getting in and making his way up with a victor—another victor for Ten, no less—was better than never getting in at all. And if he could outshine those from the top fair and square from near-rock bottom, then that was just more proof that he was meant for this job.

Zero smiled to himself and began filling the sink with shallow, soapy water. With any luck, he'd find allies among the other escorts too. As long as they showed respect to him for sharing the most prestigious position going right now, he was surely going to give them the same courtesy. It was as easy as that.

* * *

 **Rhapsody Li, 44, Escort for District 11**

 _To Mr Rhapsody Li,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

Well, that settled that.

Rhapsody pocketed the letter a third time today. Every time he pulled it out and reread it, the surprise from the news struck him anew. He knew he was a patriot, very well known for that fact along with his music career, but some part of him had doubted that his famed loyalty would be enough. Had been nervous, like he was a teenager performing his first show all over again.

He slid the thick, leather-bound book in its place on the shelf. Four more books were tucked carefully under his other arm, all waiting to be returned to their homes like the others. He was done reading them, done studying them, and it was time for Rhapsody to move on to the next volume of each. This was what his daily life had turned to, it seemed—studying things he deprived himself of for the sake of music, passing his teachings on to others—and even Rhapsody had to admit it was more peaceful than what he'd built himself up on.

Less friends and girlfriends to lose when you study. Less drama when you study. Less _everything_ when you study.

His hand drifted back to the pocket with the letter in it. That didn't take long, he thought as he traced the outline through the fabric of his trousers. The time between rereading was growing shorter, an uncertainty brewing that hadn't been there before.

Would escorting change things between him and Nocturne, he wondered? There was no doubt the other man had applied to work as an escort as well, just as patriotic as Rhapsody. But Nocturne was much more withdrawn than Rhapsody, and there was no doubt the other man knew Rhapsody had applied for the job as well. Would he have held back? Avoided any chances of running into Rhapsody again?

The thought plagued Rhapsody as he slid the next book back in place. He looked warily over at his desk, where a locked drawer hid away the stain on their relationship that pushed them further and further apart. Rhapsody had been angry—he still was—but not once did he think to seek out Nocturne and confront him for the letter.

Perhaps, he thought with growing dread, their relationship would only sour further if they were forced to work together.

* * *

 **Spurgeon Riverty, 19, Escort for District 12**

 _To Mr Spurgeon Riverty,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the 101st Hunger Games escorting staff. As you are aware, major changes have been made to how the Hunger Games will function from this year onwards. The abolishment of a mentor system has officially been put into effect with your employment, and it is now solely up to you to ensure your tributes receive proper coaching and support during the Games._

 _After the tragedy of last year's Games and the attack on our former Head Gamemaker and President Snow II, we have regarded employee loyalty with the utmost importance when choosing the twelve escorts for the Districts. We at the Games HQ cannot thank you enough for stepping up to the task and proving your patriotism to save this country's traditions._

 _I hope to work with you for many years to come._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Morganite Gardierre, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games and escort for the Capitol._

He sucked in a deep, shaky breath. The hand holding the letter trembled, the words no longer legible as he shook the paper like a leaf. His other hand, almost done with the downtime from his most recent tattoo, unconsciously reached across his desk for the sole photo frame resting atop it.

"I did it," Spurgeon whispered to himself. His fingers found the frame and gripped it desperately. He dragged it across the desk and set it down on his lap. "I… I did it…"

It was like he'd been granted a boon for his grief, like he'd been given a chance to right the wrongs from last year's Quell. He was an escort now, starting from the literal bottom and able to work his way to the top. The only way to go was up, after all, and Spurgeon was a hard worker when it came to proving his worth to his betters.

His only gripe with his position, he thought as the reality finally settled in, was that he'd have to work closely with the bastard who'd set him on this path.

They'd been allies up until… whatever the hell happened, happened. Spurgeon still couldn't figure out the mentality behind Gossamer's choice, behind suddenly and brutally sending the one person who trusted him to death's door. To let him suffer so slowly, to die during his parents' interviews…

Spurgeon turned the photo frame upwards, allowing himself to gaze upon the candid photo that had been taken, but ultimately turned down, for the school yearbook last year. There were simply better photos of Croix to be used on his memorial page, more flattering ones. But Spurgeon had paid to have this one printed for himself, to frame and keep as a reminder of what Croix used to be—not what he had died as.

The smarmy grin on his rival's face used to annoy him so much, but now, as he stared at the expression pointed at the Spurgeon of the past, he only felt a sense of longing. It wasn't like they'd been dating, barely able to call the rendezvous they had "friends with benefits". But they'd shared something—something that was ripped away from Spurgeon before he could so much as realise they'd shared it. Of all the things that came from the Quell, from watching Croix die, that was what hurt the most.

He traced Croix's face in the photo and smiled, a bittersweet expression that pained him to pull. "I'll get us there," he whispered to the photo. "I promise."

* * *

 **So after a longass time, we've got our escort intros up. You can find more info on them on the blog (admeliora-101 . weebly . com). As for the tribute list, I never really announced it, huh? So here we go.**

 **CAPITOL  
Luvenia Nero, 16 - **OfficialBengy  
 **Valhalla Averton, 18 -** PercyJacksonAlways

 **DISTRICT ONE  
Alexandru Stracony, 17 -** TheEngineeringGames  
 **Magic Rogers, 18 -** CelticGames4

 **DISTRICT TWO  
Invincible Cavallon, 18 -** OfficialBengy  
 **Hero Crenshaw, 18 -** goldie031

 **DISTRICT THREE  
** **Isla Reine, 18 -** twistedservice  
 **Clemont Blue, 17 -** AmericanPi

 **DISTRICT FOUR  
Ñing Namba, 15 - **Platrium  
 **Nix Tosell, 18 -** later . glader

 **DISTRICT FIVE  
Alcina Klein, 16 - **HogwartsDreamer113  
 **Dimitri Kova, 16 -** TheEngineeringGames

 **DISTRICT SIX  
Geralda Inbellis, 17 - **DMonkey1607  
 **Dodge Reading, 13 -** AmericanPi

 **DISTRICT SEVEN  
** **Cassandra Shibboleth, 12 -** goldie031  
 **Orion Lunae, 17 -** twistedservice

 **DISTRICT EIGHT  
** **Chambray Hemingway, 18 -** shiftseveny  
 **Sable Dunebreaker, 15 -** The Voice of Night Vale

 **DISTRICT NINE  
Lily Iona, 15 -** david12341  
 **Dustin Glasgow, 13 -** 66samvr

 **DISTRICT TEN  
** **Romilly Berkle, 17 -** 66samvr  
 **Archibald Harlowe, 14 -** Elim9

 **DISTRICT ELEVEN  
** **Jacqueline Meyers, 17 -** TheAmazingJAJ  
 **Kesshou Dubois, 17 -** Insanity's Jewel

 **DISTRICT TWELVE  
Nicole Proctor, 18 - **AmericanPi  
 **Walter Avena, 15 -** basicgay


End file.
